


Good Intentions

by viatorix



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, prolonged erection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:23:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3212384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viatorix/pseuds/viatorix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was the last time Cullen went out of his way to surprise the Inquisitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kink Meme prompt:
> 
> 'the inquisitor (m or f, any race or class) is finally returning after being away for a few weeks and cullen has plans. fun sex marathon type plans. also happy reunion sex plans. so he takes something that's supposed to help but it ends up working too well and hours before the inquisitor is even back he's rock hard and nothing is making it go away.'

 

Cullen had a problem. A very hard, and quite painful problem. Admittedly, it was probably (most certainly) his own fault, but in his defence, he didn’t exactly plan it to turn out this way. It was _supposed_ to be good, it was supposed to be– Andraste preserve him. He stopped the frantic pacing of his office to grab the unassuming vial that sat on his desk and inspect the instructions for what seemed like the hundredth time. The words were written in a tiny, barely legible script on the side.

_Take three drops with water to increase and prolong sexual activity._

 There was more words under the instruction, but Cullen couldn’t make them out, as warped and water stained as they were. He was willing to bet all the sovereigns in his stash that it was some sort of warning. Don’t consume more than three drops, or something similar. Well, Cullen had already crossed that bridge. It had said three, but Cullen decided (which retrospect was a terrible and utterly awful decision) to take _four._ What harm could there be in such a thing? He had thought. It wasn’t as if this mixture came from a specialised healer, just a simple Ferelden apothecary. Maker’s breath, it was not as if he thought the concoction would actually work; the place had also sold and advertised pointless knick-knacks, love potions, and a supposedly lucky spoon that just looked like an ordinary spoon.

Money well spent, apparently, because the mixture worked exactly as it said it would. He had just wanted to try it, to test its reliability, so when the time came for its proper use later that day, there would be no disappointment. It had been a month since the Inquisitor had set out for the Hissing Wastes, and Cullen missed his warmth more than he was willing to admit. They had received a letter from his camp, not a week before, informing them of his imminent return to Skyhold. Their mission had been a success, and they would return for a welcomed period of rest and relaxation before once again jumping into the fray. So, Cullen had bought the little vial, preparing to surprise Trevelyan with a plan that would allow them to get lost in themselves, and enjoy one another’s company. Repeatedly and in many different positions, some most probably physiologically impossible.

Cullen should have just bought the damn spoon.

Ten minutes after consuming his drink, Cullen felt his breeches grow tight. Satisfied that the concoction was going to live up to its expectation, he had decided to ignore his cock, and let it flag on its own. Perhaps he would get some of the more pressing reports written before the Inquisitor’s arrival. Only his erection hadn’t gone down, it had stayed very much erect. That was _four hours ago_.

He had tried everything except stripping himself bare and rutting against his sheets like a teenage boy, though he wasn’t sure that would work either. Fifteen minutes in, he had been confused. Thirty minutes in, he had been worried. Two hours in, Cullen had been _desperate_. When he had, had enough, he had locked the doors, retreated behind his desk, and pulled his cock from his trousers to fervently stroke his length. He could feel his abdomen tighten; the pulling in his balls, but as Cullen reached that crest, eager and desperate to spill over, nothing had happened. There was no life-shattering orgasm. Hot, slick seed didn’t coat Cullen’s fingers. There was only an increasingly frustrated man pumping furiously at his rigid prick until it was so sensitive, so raw that even the rub of fabric against it, when he had gently tucked himself back into his breeches, had become painful.

He had thought of slinking away to the Inquisition’s healer, but even the thought of displaying his predicament to another made Cullen’s face redden in shame. He was at a total loss as to what to do. Sponging himself with freezing water would require him to leave his office to get it, so that was out of the question. His armour and mantle had become like a furnace, so Cullen had been forced to strip the garments off and pad around his office frantically in his light tunic and trousers. It hardly helped, the shirt was soaked with his sweat, making it weigh heavy and damp about his shoulders.

Cullen braced his hands against the desk. There was nothing else for it. It was time to consider other options, whether they worked or not. Maxwell could be arriving back any moment, but Cullen was too far gone to wait any longer. Nodding his decision, the Commander propelled himself off his messy workspace and made hastily for his ladder. The rungs were difficult to grasp with his sweaty hands, but Cullen made it to the top without incident, quickly slinging his shirt off to the side, and pulling at his buckles to shimmy out of the tight breeches.

Maker, he was glad he’d left his little tin of sword oil on the bedside table to night before. Cullen didn’t think he could handle trying to sift through his trunk, with a raging erection, to find it.

He didn’t waste any time crawling onto the sheets, ass in the air and spreading his legs wide whilst he coated a finger or two with the greasy liquid. The pressing digits at his entrance gave a semblance of relief that stroking his cock had not. Either that, or the mixture that he had taken was finally starting to wear off, but Cullen was thankful regardless. He dipped his finger into the ring of muscle, moaning deeply into his arm as a spike of pleasure shot straight up his spine. Twisting the finger, he pumped in and out, pushing in a little further each time, before he was sheathed to his knuckle and it still wasn’t enough. He pulled back, and pushed another finger in, scissoring and crooking the digits to press at the plush walls, trying to find that bundle of nerves within him. Not for the first time he ached for Maxwell to be there; the man never failed to root out that spot and angle himself to thrust directly into it after only a few tries. Cullen’s wrist was becoming sore, but as soon as he brushed over than bundle, all his pain was momentarily forgotten. He cried out with such force, that Cullen became embarrassingly aware that someone outside could have easily heard. He’d have to get that damn hole in the ceiling fixed.

The Ex-Templar continued to massage the spot, rolling his hips back to get deeper, but no matter how many pulses of electricity frayed Cullen’s nerves, it was as he had hypothesised. He still couldn’t cum. Cullen slammed his fist into the headboard, not caring if the wood splintered under his frustration. He lay there for a time, panting into the sheets. The big gulps of cool air did little to soothe the fire in his belly.

A sudden rattle of the handle of one of the doors below made Cullen freeze. _Oh no._ The panic lessened only slightly when a familiar, and very much welcome voice called out, albeit muffled.

“Cullen? Why’s the door locked? Are you alright?”

“I’m—“ He was what? Fine? A particularly painful throb informed Cullen that he was anything but fine. He grit his teeth. It was time to face the music. “…here.”

“Oh, good. Mind telling me why the door is locked?”

“Just—just come in. Quickly.”

“Cullen, I don’t have a key. Where are you? Your bed? You sound high up.”

“Maker’s breath, man. Just use your damn lockpick!”

Cullen rolled over onto his back, appreciating the feel of the frigid mountain air on his bare chest, as he listened to Trevelyan’s faint curses. There was another rattle, then a whine as the door swung back on its hinges.

“Cullen?” The Inquisitor’s voice came again.

“Up here,” he called, staring up at the vines that threaded through the rafters. There was a _clack, clack, clack,_ of someone scaling the ladder, before an awkward, yet interested clearing of a throat. Cullen lifted his head to stare at the man peeping over the side of the railing. Maxwell Trevelyan was grinning at what Cullen could guess was a very alluring sight before him.

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I’d expected to come home to this,” Maxwell said, pulling himself up the rest of the way. “But I appreciate it, nonetheless.”

Cullen huffed and dropped his head back against the pillows. “I have a problem,” he admitted.

“It looks like a very inviting problem. Is it one I can help solve? Preferably with my penis?” Maker, the man was already stripping off his vest, and undoing his belts.

“ _Max_.”

“Yes, dear?”

“I’ve had this erection for four hours.” No point in sugar-coating it.

Trevelyan stopped unlacing his vambraces to stare at Cullen in amusement. “Cullen, I’m aware you’ve probably missed me, but I’ve never known you to over exaggerate.”

Cullen returned a stare that he hoped was deadly serious. It must have worked, because he saw Maxwell’s face drop a bit, the amused smile slipping into a frown. “Seriously?” he asked.

The Commander massaged his slick temples, groaning as he replied. “I took… something. It was supposed to ‘increase and prolong sexual activity’ or something like that. I wanted to test it, so I could surprise you later. Only, it worked a little too well.”

Cullen heard a snort, covered by a completely unsubtle cough. Irritation swelled in his chest as he propped himself up on his elbows to glare at the man who was trying his best to keep his twisting face straight. Trevelyan kept attempting to cover his twitching mouth with a hand as he looked at him, his brow knotted something fierce. Cullen snarled.

“ _Are you laughing at me?_ ”

“No,” Maxwell replied, but his voice came out squeaky, and high pitched at the end, turning it more into a question, than an answer.

“This isn’t funny, Max!” Cullen groused. It probably was, but certainly not to Cullen. Not whilst the needy ache still thrummed throughout his body, searing his flesh and making it hard to breathe.

“You have to admit, it’s a little funny,” Trevelyan said.

Cullen growled, kicking the sheet off his foot, and angrily tugged at his own hair. The sweat had destroyed his morning routine, making the strands curl thickly against the nape of his neck.

“Yes, yes, this whole situation is hilarious,” he said, turning back to the man at the foot of the bed, “and I’m sure we’ll both laugh about it later. But for now, I’d appreciate it if you’d take off your damn clothes and _fuck me._ ”

Trevelyan didn’t need to be told twice.

Cullen felt a jolt in his groin as the Inquisitor hurriedly removed the rest of his attire, carelessly flinging them about the room. Some had probably shot through the hole in the floorboards to fall down into his office below, but Cullen didn’t have the time to consider the schematics of airborne clothing before Trevelyan was on him, pulling him towards his hips by the meat of Cullen’s thighs. He reached above the Commander’s head to grab at the tin of oil, but Cullen nipped at his collarbone, drawing his attention away and sucking at the skin.

“Don’t bother, I’m already prepared,” he puffed, grinding his hips against Trevelyan’s.

“Yes, but my cock isn’t,” the man replied, quickly coating his length with a generous helping of the liquid. Cullen was going to need another tin at this rate.

Trevelyan lined himself up at Cullen’s entrance, and with an agonisingly slow push, he sheathed himself fully inside him. White pricked at Cullen’s vision, and the man swore he was saw stars. When Trevelyan started to move, the Commander wrapped his legs around the Inquisitor’s waist, throwing his head back to expose his throat the man above him. Trevelyan immediately took advantage and picked up the pace, rolling his hips so perfectly, that Cullen could hardly keep up with the rhythmic thrusts, his vision too blinded with pleasure.

It was only moments later that Maxwell found the spot that Cullen had tried so desperately to prod at not long before. At Cullen’s resulting cry, the Inquisitor angled himself just so, grasping the headboard and the space next to Cullen’s head so he could piston his hips into the bundle of nerves again and again. Cullen let out a string of curses, some even too filthy for The Iron Bull’s ears and Trevelyan laughed above him, capturing the words on his tongue in a scalding kiss. There was a spark of affection as the Ex-Templar looped his arm around Maxwell’s neck, eager to get him closer so he could run his tongue along his lip. He felt deeply for this man, and having him here, returned to him, surrounding him, filling him, well, Cullen took happiness where he could.

Trevelyan’s thrusts became sloppy as he edged closer to his release, and Cullen felt his own orgasm cresting in his loins. _Come on,_ he pleaded to himself. _There_ , a pulling in his balls, and Cullen dared to hope, excitement building in his chest. With one more well aimed thrust, Cullen was sent reeling, his seed splattering between the rutting men, the sanguine pleasure of release pulsing in waves throughout his body. Cullen felt like he could scream, but instead he choked in a wordless gasp, the world becoming brighter, more vivid for a second before sinking to normalcy as the last of the waves roiled his nerves.

Maxwell released moments later, crying out as he spasmed and unloaded into the man beneath him. They stilled for a moment, their breaths mixing together with each pant. The Inquisitor was looking at Cullen, his toothy smile as wide as a cat who had caught a canary. He didn’t need to speak for Cullen to know what Trevelyan was feeling acutely proud of himself as he looked down between them to spy his Commander’s softening cock. Cullen, in turn, felt nothing but sincere relief. The fire had cooled to burning embers; comfortable instead of agonizing. He would allow Maxwell his smugness. For the time being.

The Inquisitor pulled out of Cullen, rolling to his side and fanning himself out across the mattress.

“I… apologise for yelling at you,” Cullen murmured to the man at his side. “I know I must have seemed ridiculous.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said, patting Cullen’s hip, “I should do the same.” Maxwell sighed and looked at him from under his lashes, his mouth quirked. “I’ve missed you terribly.”

“And I, you,” Cullen said, pulling Trevelyan in for another kiss.

\--

 “Where is the Inquisitor? He’s been back for hours now and has yet to come to debrief us in the war room. Commander Cullen is missing as well.”

Leliana looked up from where she had been planning her agent’s movements to look at the Antivan woman staring anxiously at the War Room’s ancient door. She chuckled, pushing a tiny metal piece further along the map, before turning to Josephine to answer her worried question.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it Josie, our Commander probably wished to give his recent reports to the Inquisitor in person. I'm sure we’ll see them soon.”


End file.
